


New York, 1932

by Hatchered



Series: Childhood Comrades [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchered/pseuds/Hatchered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met on the streets of New York, nothing more than children with a passion for fighting, and that was where their story began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That one arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a World War II OC of mine and the World War II OC of my best friend (Ed) and the roleplaying we have done with those two. Claire is all written up by me, together with her family (mother, father + older brothers Harry and Jamie) and her backstory, while Mick has kindly been lent to me by Ed. The character is fully his, and I claim no credit for Mick or his backstory whatsoever, because he's not mine and I'm just borrowing him. 
> 
> The story will be divided into parts, set during different periods of Mick and Claire's life, starting with them meeting as children in New York and going all the way to them fighting together in the 101st Airborne - Claire as a medic and Mick as a regular soldier. Each part will be divided into chapters to avoid any confusion, but the amount of chapters per part will vary, depending on how much content there is.

They had told her the city would be an adventure, a new place for her to grow and thrive, but she hadn't believed them until she saw it properly for the first time, its tall buildings stretched like dark fingers towards the dull, grey skies, and the streets like a maze between them. 

It looked like a giant compared to any other city she had ever seen before, and had she not been so determined not to like it, it would have taken her breath away. She would have almost looked forward to exploring it, had it not been for the fact that she had been brought there against her will, and she was determined not to enjoy a minute of her time there. She didn't want her mother and father to be correct when they had said she'd adapt nicely and grow used to living somewhere else than where she had been born. Because to her, it was an unbearable thought. 

Her foul mood had been forgotten about during the trip across the ocean, when she had been curled up with her brothers in their small cabin or sent off to roam the upper decks and get some fresh air. It had been exciting, and she had barely even realised that they had all tried to distract her until they had first sighted New York. 

But now it was back, shown on her face with a scowl as she stomped down the gangway of the ship after her brothers, ignoring her mother's reprimands from behind over her actions. She wasn't happy with what had been done, and she saw it all as a great injustice, that she had been taken away from home against her will. 

The cheerful remarks coming from her brothers as they took in the new city, trying their best to get her mood to brighten, was ignored and she refused to speak a word to either of them until the family found themselves in what was to be their new home, a slightly rundown house in a neighbourhood filled with other that had once been hopeful. There were familiar accents there, so different from the harsh New York accent they had been surrounded with on their journey through the city, and that was something that at least caused the girl to crack a smile. The people around them sounded more like the people back home than Americans, and it was enough to make her at least try to cheer up, if so only to be able to make some friends. 

She expected it to be like before, like back in Cambridge where she and her brothers had been a fighting trio who roamed the streets with bruised fists and confident postures. Harry had been the first out of the three to begin, and had passed the knowledge downwards when his younger siblings had been able to join him, and together they had made a name for themselves on the streets. 

But New York wasn't the same. They were older now, the two boys quickly finding older boys that took them in to their gangs, but Claire wasn't wanted. Here, no matter what her brothers said, she was just a girl who couldn't match the older boys. They didn't want to give her a chance to prove herself, to prove she could fight as just as good as them, and that left her frustrated and alone. 

Unbeknownst to her, these things would soon change...


	2. That one meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not everyday one sees an unfamiliar face in Mick's area, so the girl he doesn't recognise with the bruised knuckles is a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to point out that pretty much the entire conversation between Mick and Claire here originally comes from the first ever roleplay that Ed and I wrote with these two, and which was the one that started it all. I have changed a little bit of Claire's parts in it, just because I have developed her childhood accent since that point in time, but otherwise this is exactly how it originally was. Ah, those were the good ol' times...
> 
> Also, please be aware that Mick and Claire are kids, and their opinions are completely their own. This means that if they talk shit about a certain religion or certain people, that's because that's how they feel. It's not done to insult anyone, seeing as they are only expressing their opinions, and at this point in time aren't much more than 9 years old. So, yeah, nothing here is done to offend anyone, so don't take it seriously. 
> 
> And if anyone wants an idea of how these two loser kids look, Claire's young faceclaim is Sophie Nèlisse and Mick's young one is Hugo Leverdez. Their older ones are Eliza Taylor and Corbin Allred. 
> 
> And apologies if this chapter is a bit messy. Due to it being rewritten from RP form, it required heavy editing of where their lines went, and at some parts it can all go a bit too quickly for my taste. But, hey, they're kids, their emotions change like the weather. Future chapters are hopefully going to be better!

Their footsteps echoed along the empty street as they ran, feet hitting the rough ground as they raced, voices calling out to tease each other in the cool air. It was barely even February, the air still riddled with an icy wind, and the running was keeping them warm in their thin clothes. For them, with most other children in school, that was one of the few things they could do beside hanging around the school gates, staring through the iron bars and teasing others while they were free from lessons. It wasn't much, but it was something to keep them occupied and out of other people's way. 

He was well aware that his mother wanted him to go to school, and for him to have a proper future, but to him school didn't feel important. He could read – if so only enough to understand simple writing – and to him that was enough. Besides, with him out of school, that meant one less thing that his mother would have to pay for. 

The school gates were already open when the two boys arrived, Mick being the only one to properly stop as he watched the other children cross the paved yard and exit out onto the streets. He was always more interested in watching and waiting, everyday hoping for a fight. He liked fighting, if so only because it made him feel stronger whenever he won. 

Eyes travelled to the heavy double door, where the steady stream of students had diminished and he was about to turn his attention elsewhere – preferably to someone who wouldn't mind a fight – when the door opened one last time. 

For a moment, he thought the girl emerging wasn't anything special, just another stuck up American with more money than him, but then her bruised knuckles caught his interest. Bruised knuckles that looked like those of a fighter, and a scowl on her brow that made her almost look dangerous. 

He barely even realised he was staring at her, that he was probably looking like a right on idiot where he stood, until she came to a halt before him and her voice called for his attention. 

“Wha' 're ya starin' at? Huh?” It was clear, from those few words, that she had an attitude, and from the accent he quickly realised she was no American. The accent lay closer to his own, despite that it lacked the Irish lilt his own had, and it made him interested. If she hadn't interested him before she had spoken, with her ruffled clothes and bruised knuckles, he knew that the accent would have been enough.

Irritation flickered across her features as she waited for the boy's reply, her fists clenching by her sides as she ignored how sore her knuckles already were. The fight earlier during the day had been brief, nothing more than her pounding an older boy for teasing her for her accent, but it had been enough to bruise the tender skin. The teacher's reprimand and the ruler hitting her fingers hadn't really done much to keep the skin whole, either. 

“Want me to punch ya too?” The words slipped from her lips before she was able to stop them, but she didn't let him see any potential emotion other than irritation as she straightened up, prepared to fight him if necessary. She wasn't even 10, she knew she wasn't particularly big, but he looked to be about her size and she was sure he wouldn't be much of a match for her. She had practiced for years with her brothers back home, and from punching the older boy earlier that day, she was feeling confident. 

Surprise flashed across Mick's features, unused to having girls speaking to him the way she did. Most girls didn't want to fight – at least not the ones he had met – and so she was something else, something new. Her accent, on the other hand, was not. 

“Ye'-ye' talk f'nny.” He wasn't entirely sure what made him say it, what made him brave enough to test fate, but the words were across his lips before he could stop them, and he clenched his fists in the process, almost as if expecting a punch. 

Fury coursed through her veins as she heard him speak, his words so very similar to that of the other children who had taunted her since the minute she had first set foot in the New York school. 

“Don' say tha'!” Her outburst surely sounded childish, with the way her voice shook with anger and frustration, and she felt her cheeks heat with the embarrassment. She had kept hoping for a friend since setting foot in New York those few weeks previous, but it didn't seem as if she could find one – not even in someone with an accent similar to her own. “Tha' is wha' all the others say and I can’ stand it. It’s no’ funny. It’s normal. They ‘re all talkin’ funny, no’ me.”

Hands tightened further into fists as she took a step forward, eyes burning into his own as he realised she was surely going to fight him if he gave her the chance. Both of them carried the same stance, the same confident air as they prepared to fight, and had Mick not cracked a grin at her words, quickly stepping in to agree with her, there surely would have been one. 

“Ye’ righ’ ‘bout tha’!” Head bobbed eagerly up and down in a nod, his clenched fists relaxing as his usual grin spread across his lips. Eyes glittered mischievously as he spoke again, this time while doing his best when it came to imitating the American drawl he heard everyday. “Ya'll better get ya'lls hats off or rootin' tootin' Jesus will come on down from the Heavens an' give ya' youngsters a good whoppin'!”

Eyes searched for her own, almost as if looking for approval, him trying his best to smooth over any offence she might have taken from his previous words. Because in the naivety of childhood, no fights between destined friends lasted for long. 

She almost couldn't understand what she was hearing as he spoke, her having expected him to taunt her rather than the people she had to spend every day with. It was unexpected and strange, but also something that appealed to her. In that moment, he turned from another person she needed to fight, to a potential ally. 

“They ‘re all twats. Can’ even pronounce things righ’.” A scoff escaped her lips at the same time as they curled into a wide smile, her previously clenched fists relaxing as she joined in on his jokes, if so only for a moment. “There are no U's in honour, young lady. Y'll never be a proper lady if ya speak like tha'. Jesus'll curse ya stupid head if ya don't work harder.”

The words were ones that had been spoken by her teacher before her, as she had been given yet another reprimand for not conforming to the American standard. She had learnt how to write and pronounce things one way back in England where she had spent the first nine years of her life, but here, it was suddenly not good enough. 

“We c'ain't have none of them English 'U's 'round here! The only U ya'll need is the 'u' in Jesus.” A light chuckle escaped his lips, mainly from the surprise that she had joined in on his joke. Few ever did, and so to have this girl, who he was already growing attached to, doing so was almost amusing to him. “If they don't like you and they don't like me, then let's be disliked together.” There was a tone of hope in his voice as he spoke, keeping up the accent as he spoke words that he hoped sounded friendly enough. 

Surprise crossed her features, cutting the laughter that had been spilling from her lips at his first sentence short, and she instead stared at him in confusion, quite not understanding what he was saying. 

“Ya mean tha’? Or 're ya just playin’ 'round?” Doubt was laced into her words, and it didn't subside even when she continued speaking, one bruised hand tightly gripping the strap of her school bag to adjust it. “'Cause no one else wan’ to be friends with me here. The boys find me too small and the girls think me dirty.” Eyes flickered from his face, her almost embarrassed of what she was saying. To admit that she had had troubles making friends was something she hadn't yet done to anyone – not even her brothers. 

“Ain’t playin’. Got no reason to neither.” Shrugging, he shot her another smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants. “Fuck ‘em, they got sticks up their arses anyway!” The cheerful tone of his words brought her smile back, together with her more confident posture as she chimed in again, quickly forgetting the people who had taunted her and pushed her away. 

“Yes, fuck them all. We don’ need them. They can take their Jesus and stick him up their arses.” 

Laughter spilled from both sets of lips, Mick's own widely spread in a grin as he nodded towards her, glad she had cheered up and not taken offence from anything he had said. He had taken bold leaps like these before, but it wasn't often they had actually succeeded. “No space for Jesus up there. Sticks’re takin’ up all the room!”

“Tha’s very true. Wouldn’ be able to fit anythin’ up there.” Her voice almost caught a serious tone as she spoke, and then extended her hand, back straightening as she tried to assume a more mature posture. She had seen her brothers introduce themselves to people that way, all confident and strong, and she was determined to introduce herself to this boy the same way. “I'm Claire.”

And her effort wasn't in vain, as his hand firmly grasped her to give it an eager shake, two sets of eyes meeting over wide grins.

“Mick. Professional hater o’ all people with sticks up their arses!”

And in that moment, both of them could almost understand that their friendship were to be a long one. At least long in the eyes of eager children.


	3. That one New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Years, a new year is coming, and it's about time the two fighters visit Times Square

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, this is going to be the last chapter of this part of the story. Next there will be a one shot of a special event from 1933, and then it's onto Mick and Claire as adults. Or, well, at least their older versions. 
> 
> I'm well aware that a few bits and pieces of this can feel a bit vague and not very well explained, but things will be further explained later on in the story. I have a plan with things, which is rare when it comes to me and writing (hence why this took such a long time for me to finish, despite that it's not a very long chapter). 
> 
> Also, any explanations of some things used in this part will be at the end!

There would be times in the future, where the sky would be lit with explosions and the air penetrated by sprays of dirt, that she would remember the cold New Years night of 1932. 

She would remember the excited whisper in her ear, the breath tickling her cheek as Mick had broken into fits of giggles at his mother's stern glance across the small table, and how he had nodded towards the door as soon as no one had paid them attention. 

There had been the clumsy escape, as they had tried dressing in a dark hallway while their families had been gathered in the next room, the two children stumbling around in search of clothes that would keep them warm in the cold night outside. 

That, together with an unnoticed escape, had been the most difficult part of their venture. Neither Claire's nor Mick's family owned much, and so the fabric of their winter coats and the leather of their boots were thin, easily letting the piercing cold in when the temperature dropped. The New York winters were cold – almost colder than the Cambridge winters Claire had grown up with – and for children with an eagerness to explore, that made things difficult. 

Knitted sweaters had been pulled over finer clothes, and then followed by coats and scarves and gloves, and the end result had them in so many layers that even in the otherwise cool hallway, they had been sweating. 

There had been a hand on the handle already when the boy had remembered one last thing, and with some difficulty he had once more removed his thin gloves from his hands and the kippah he had previously worn were once more placed on his head. It was the New Years, and despite that it wasn't his New Year, he still felt as if it was appropriate to wear it. If so only to avoid a scolding from his mother for forgetting it at the Hatcher residence the next time he was to wear it, as he knew he would, did he not bring it with him. 

The air was crisp and clear as they stepped outside, the cold immediately biting at any visible skin as soon as they begun moving, boots meeting snow that had not yet been swept off the streets. 

When she would later look back at that night, years onwards while looking up at a starlit sky to the sound of Christmas carols, she would almost wonder how she had ever been warm again after it. The cold had been so biting, so cruel, that it had been a wonder they had not returned home as stiff as statues. 

Perhaps it had been their constant movement and the burning excitement in their chests that had kept them from freezing, or the hands clasping each other through thin gloves as they had navigated the streets and not wished to lose one another in the growing crowds, but whatever it had been, she knew it had saved their lives. Despite that they had both ended up sniffling and with easy cases of pneumonia, forbidden to go outside for weeks, they hadn't really suffered. 

Not as much as they later would. 

-

“This is nothin' like Rosh Hashanah.” The murmur of surprise had come from Mick as the two had reached Times Square, the large space and the streets surrounding it packed with people and lit with hundreds – perhaps even thousands – of lights. “We don't have nothin' like this in synagogue.” 

“I think I like your New Years better, though.” A smile had flickered across her lips as she had shot him a smile, blue eyes sparkling with the excitement of their adventure. Times Square was a place she had never seen before, and had he not suggested they'd go there to watch the arrival of a new year, she probably never would have seen it either. “Maybe 'cause then it feels more special. This is somethin' everyone does, not like yours. It's different. Good different.” 

He had smiled at her words, and his hand had hugged hers as they had stood on their tiptoes, in a try to look over the crowds and not feel so small, and as the voices had started to count down to 1933, he had turned towards her, and yelled to be heard over the noise. 

“Shanah Tovah, Claire!” His cheeks had been burning red from the biting cold, but his smile had been as bright as always, with his eyes twinkling as the fireworks started to light up the heavens.

“Happy New Year, Mick!” The words spilled from her lips together with a wide smile, the knowledge that another year full of unexpected things were about to begin dancing through her mind. Surely, with him having her back in any potential upcoming fights or quarrels, it could not be anything but a wonderful year. 

But in the future, she would wish her younger self would not have been so naïve. Because life would be anything but wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kippah - traditional Jewish hat, worn by the males. Usually knitted, and kind of small and round and placed on the top of the head. Tbh, google it, I think that gives a better image, because I'm not 100% sure how it all works, due to not being Jewish. 
> 
> Rosh Hashanah - the Jewish New Year, celebrated on the first two days of the Jewish month of Tishrei/Tishri (different places say different things, so I'll just write both). In 1932, this was between the 1st and 2nd of October (sunrise to sunset), while in 2015 it's between the 13th and 15th of September (aka next week, so Happy New Years!). Again, I'm not Jewish, so all I know has come from checking an old calendar + reading up on it on Wikipedia, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. 
> 
> Shanah Tovah - Hebrew meaning kinda "Have a good year" or things similar to that. It's rated as the most common greeting during Rosh Hashanah, but, once again, I don't really know, so you're more than welcome to correct me!


End file.
